


You Can Run

by LadyNighteyes



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1609544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNighteyes/pseuds/LadyNighteyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little more detail on the Simmering Fury bad end. Contains spoilers for that bad end (of course), vague references to endgame plot twists, most of the party dying traumatically, and my twin fascinations with a) magic and b) Stocke suffering horribly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Run

Rosch had been the first victim. Well, relatively speaking; in retrospect, the mysterious fever Aht had come down with that wouldn't respond to medicine or magic, trapping her in bed while the rest of them traveled to the Royal Hall, had probably been first. But Rosch had been the first to die.

It had been done carefully. The monsters that prowled the Royal Hall must have been a handy discovery; they slowed the five of them down, wearing away at them. Stocke had been surprised at the number of times he'd reached out with his magic to patch up a cut or scrape and felt a slow poison spreading through someone's veins, but he'd put it down to the monsters, and thought little of it when it reappeared after the next ancient machine or animal came roaring down on them. He'd simply burned it out again and moved on. It was only when he had to scrape for the power to throw enough fire to keep a tiger off him and came up short that he began to wonder if he had made a mistake.

It hadn't been long after that that Marco had said, "Hey, where's Rosch?"

They'd all glanced around- Raynie with blood still running down the side of her face where a claw had grazed her, Eruca standing with most of her weight on her left leg because of a badly twisted ankle, Stocke with what he was fairly certain was a cracked rib and no way to do anything about it. This place had him on edge, too- he felt like he was at the bottom of an eddying river, and the way he sometimes caught glimpses of sparks of mana dancing as if in a breeze didn't help. It felt like the onset of a migraine, and there was something else strangely familiar about it that he couldn't place.

"Marc's right," Raynie had said. "Where'd he go?"

"I'm not sure," he had said, "But he can't be far." Then, to Eruca: "Would you rather wait here or come with us?"

"I will wait," she had said.

"I'll stay with you, princess!" said Marco. "Maybe I can do something about your leg while we wait?"

"I'd appreciate that very much," said Eruca, smiling.

He'd nodded quietly- talking hurt at the moment- and set off back the way they'd come, Raynie following behind him.

It didn't take them long.

He could still _feel_ with his magic even when he lacked the energy to do anything else, and as he knelt beside Rosch's body it told him of more of that insidious poison and... the dregs of a sleep spell? He'd snapped to Raynie to bring Marco to try to revive the other man, knowing as he said it that it almost certainly wouldn't work. There hadn't been a node in months, and he had already started to wonder if the timeline was as sustainable as it seemed. If Rosch was dead, it was probably just the beginning, and all he could do was play along as it took him somewhere dark.

Raynie had been the second victim.

He'd started running when he heard her scream his name, and had cursed himself the whole way. He found her just in time to feel her life ebb away, bleeding out from a slashed throat. There was no sign of her attacker- _Of course_ , he thought sourly- just the empty, oppressive air. She'd clutched weakly at him, mouthing something she didn't have the strength to say aloud, before her hand relaxed and her eyes glazed over.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered, shoving back a whole host of emotions he didn't have time to indulge. He'd closed her eyes carefully, and stood up, wincing. It hurt just to breathe, let alone run, and he knew that if this timeline was truly doomed, nothing he did now could save the others. But he ran anyway, deeper in towards where he'd left them.

Eruca had been the third to die, out cold under a sleep spell, and Marco had looked him straight in the eyes as he killed her.

That was why Stocke was now limping down shadowy corridors, searching desperately for a place where time was thinner. He was bleeding from at least four places; one of those ancient thaumachines had caught him on his way to Eruca, and though he'd managed to cut the impulse cables that brought power to its limbs, it had still knocked him around first. A cut on his right leg was the worst of the lot- it was slowing him down so much that he knew Marco had to be deliberately taking his time, or the medic would have caught him by now. Not that that surprised him. All Marco had to do was follow the trail of blood.

He could still feel that strange sense of something flowing around him, and for lack of other options, he had begun to follow it, through doors that seemed to open on their own at the touch of his bloodied hand. He limped past rockfalls and cross-corridors, noticing with what little attention he could spare from the pain that the sparks of mana were getting more numerous. The invisible current carried them past him as he continued upstream, and he realized, a bit disconnectedly, that he didn't know if the others had even been able to see them.

It couldn't have been long before he came to the heart of the Royal Hall, but it felt like hours, now that the pain was starting to make him woozy. He could feel the power here, swirling and thrumming around him, centered on the glowing crystal in the center of the room. It wasn't the Chronicle's magic, but it was so similar, familiar even, that he felt like he should have been able to walk straight through the stone and come out on slate tiles floating in that timeless, twilit void. But it stayed alien, even when he limped forward to touch the crystal itself, the strength of the magic in it prickling his fingers.

He let himself collapse to his knees, half-leaning on the crystal. There had to be a way out, but he couldn't go any farther. All he had was... this. The White Chronicle appeared in his left hand from thin air with a thought; he closed his eyes, reached out through it, and began to search for a way to connect to the power in this room enough to find a path outside time.

He still hadn't moved by the time he heard footsteps and opened his eyes to see Marco standing in the doorway.

"I told you you couldn't escape." It should have been hard to take the little man seriously with that ridiculous cat-eared helmet of his, but the bloody sword had a way of focusing the mind.

_Stall_. "You idiot," he said through gritted teeth. "If you'd waited an hour, you could have done all this without letting the world end." He was almost there, he was sure- there was just one part of it twisting out of reach.

"Saving the world? That's still all this is about to you?" The rage was audible in Marco's voice. _Good. Make him want to hurt you; it'll buy you more time._

"No," he said. "But I thought you might at least care about your own life. You'll starve to death along with everyone else when the desert spreads." He could see a path to that magic, now, but not with the Chronicle. He might be able to use it that way, but not to get to Historia. In fact, he had no idea what it would do. He kept searching.

"I don't care," Marco said, taking a step toward him.

He managed to force a sound that was almost a laugh, though it felt like he'd been kicked in the chest. "Just one more death to you, I guess. Why would that slow you down?"

"Shut up! You're stalling!"

"What good would that do me? You'll kill me long before anyone comes looking for us." He almost wished he'd paid more attention to the magic lessons he'd been forced through as a child; he felt like he was trying to put together a puzzle by fumbling blindly in the dark.

" _Shut up!_ " Marco shouted, and he made sure to flinch.

He was on thin ice, he knew, but he had to keep talking. "Just tell me one thing," he said, glancing up at the medic from behind his bangs. He let his voice slip, an edge of genuine emotion creeping into it. "Why Raynie?"

"I didn't want to," Marco said. "I told her to get out of the way, but she wouldn't." The medic's face twisted in a snarl. "You barely gave her the time of day, but she _died_ for you."

"What are you talking about?" He had realized, now, why it wouldn't work, and had to work to hide his frustration; he needed a bit of his own magic, separate from the Chronicle, to bridge the gap so he could punch through to the other side. Magic he didn't have right now.

"You didn't notice?" Marco said, contempt dripping from his voice. "She's dead because of you, and you didn't even _notice?_ "

"She's dead because _you killed her_ ," he snarled back. He was out of options; all he could do was gamble.

"Shut _up!_ " There was murder in Marco's eyes now, more than ever, and he realized he was out of time, too.

He released his hold on the Chronicle and let his fingers sink into the crystal where he was leaning on it- he couldn't imagine how he had ever thought it was real stone when he'd seen crystallized mana so many times before. He could feel the flow of power around him altering its course, and he let the same instinct that had always guided him when it came to magic shape that energy, holding it back as he twisted it into a weapon. And then, as Marco stepped forward, he _pushed_.

For a moment, the entire flow of magic through the room changed. He could feel it tugging weakly against him as the course shifted, but he was out of the way of the worst of it. Where it hit Marco, though, it threw up sparks, glints of mana like blue and green fireflies that danced in the invisible wind. The medic froze, eyes widening, his bloody sword clattering to the ground. And then, with surprisingly little fanfare, Marco's body collapsed into sand.

It was only a moment later, when he felt a sudden rush of magic, of _vitality_ , that Stocke realized what he had just done.

He fought down a brimming hysteria at the same time he clamped down on his own magic. His body tended to heal itself on its own sometimes, and it would have no regard for details like where the power to do so came from. It felt the same as if he'd gotten an hour or two's rest, not like he'd just ripped the soul from someone's body, and that terrified him. He closed his eyes, forcing the panic back. His left hand tightened on the White Chronicle as he tried to think clearly, ignoring the part of his mind that was screaming to _get it out get it out get it out-_

This time, when the magic began to move without his conscious thought, he let it. One space slipped almost imperceptibly into another, until the crystal under his hand vanished and he found himself slumped against a railing on a platform floating in the air. And, to his surprise, as the last connection to the real world vanished, all of the fatigue he'd felt a moment before suddenly returned in full force.

He never would have expected to be so pathetically thankful for something that felt like being hit by a carriage.

He slumped down to the floor, and gave himself a few moments for his ragged, painful breathing to slow. Then he said, knowing who would be there if he opened his eyes, "Did... did I just...?"

"Yes," said a boy's voice, bluntly.

"If you were to return to the flow of time where you entered, you would find that soul still at your disposal," said Lippti. "If you desired, you could use it to heal your wounds."

Logically, it would make sense, but... "No," he said. He found himself curling up tighter, even though it made his rib hurt even more. " _God_ , no."

"I am sorry if this sounds insensitive, but your reluctance is good to hear," said Teo's voice.

Stocke opened one eye to look over at them. They were standing at the edge of the platform several feet away, their expressions impassive. "Stealing people's souls not a good habit to get into?" he said, the corner of his mouth twisting in an ironic smile.

"As you say," said Teo.

"If you wish, we will leave you to rest and recuperate," Lippti said, giving no more indication than Teo that she'd noticed his tone.

"Please," he said, closing his eyes again.

He knew it was probably just the illusion of privacy; the twins, as far as he could tell, were nearly omnipresent here.

Still, he waited a few minutes to make sure they were gone before he let himself start shaking.

It was vanity, maybe, but even when he was alone, he didn't like making sound when he cried.


End file.
